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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24815701">where the stars have fallen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethebreadsticksandRUN/pseuds/takethebreadsticksandRUN'>takethebreadsticksandRUN</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jon has Anxiety, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), angsty, anxiety attack/guilt, martin is his reason and rock, martin snores bc adorableness, this is what happens if you read shitposts for too long, tw mention of a suicidal past for poor jon, y'all i am so proud of this yet slightly ashamed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:34:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24815701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethebreadsticksandRUN/pseuds/takethebreadsticksandRUN</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon tries to carry the world on his shoulders one night, while Martin is sleeping.</p><p>OR</p><p>        His head slipped to the comforting circle of his hands, eyes shut tight as his chest struggled up and down. Breathe, he commanded himself. You are safe here. Do not think about what is outside.<br/>An involuntary whimper escaped him, and for a moment the situation was comical. Is this what they call a panic attack?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>143</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>where the stars have fallen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>aloha!! the author in my mind chained me to a chair and when i was released this had happened. it's darker than what i normally write, but was strangely cathartic. did i self-project onto jon? maybe. no you can't do it right now it's MY turn to project.<br/>let me know what you think! please comment/bookmark/kudo, it makes me so happy<br/>bone apple teeth!<br/>xxx</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>          Jon had never really loved the ocean. <em>You grew up in Bournemouth, </em>people said, <em>why wouldn’t you like the sea?</em> With jealous looks on their faces, they waited for his response.</p><p>          <em>It’s not like that, </em>he tried, <em>I just…</em> But he could never articulate the reasons why it was unpleasant, and they would sit back on their heels and stare at him, arms crossed, basking in a glorious victory in the one-sided argument.</p><p>          The ocean is beautiful, but it was not the beauty he sought. It was cold, fierce, uncaring. The waves do not care if you stand or fall in their surf; the tide goes out, regardless of the restraints of human emotion. No matter what, salt stings exposed skin.</p><p>          He contemplated all of this and more as he had stood on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the gray seas. Jon’s feet followed a path he himself had worn, leading slowly to the precipice of gray and green. He sat, feet dangling, where he had before, tossing rocks into the foam below. Picturing the release, the freedom.</p><p>          Yet every time, he turned back. Why, he did not know. Life had swept him under, again and again, but did not see fit to let him drown. <em>You have seen the puddles,</em> the waves whispered to him, <em>you have not stood to the test of the hurricanes to come. Wait, and you will see the place where the falling stars live</em>.</p><p>          Here, as the floor beckoned more than the stormy seas had, Jon finally surrendered. The rainstorms of his youth were nothing to this moment, this eternally burning moment of guilt and passion and fear. So much fear.</p><p>          Back straight to the point of pain, he stared at the wall. <em>So many secrets. It has seen so many things, yet it still stands. Can I?</em></p><p>          Martin’s snores came from the room next door, soft and humming. Jon repressed a soft smile, the grin he saved for when nobody was looking. But this time, with no judgment to find him, he still could not smile unburdened.</p><p>          The sounds in his head echoed loudly, bouncing, reverberating, growing louder. The cold room wrapped him in its embrace, quiet and deafening. Sounds of nightlife drifted in through the window, the world spinning while Jon Watched.</p><p>          <em>Too much, too much to See. Not enough to look at. I can’t-</em> His thoughts spiraled, his breathing shallow. The sky was too heavy, looming over him with a doomed burden. Through glimpses between the curtains, eyes seemed to stare back at him.</p><p>          His head slipped to the comforting circle of his hands, eyes shut tight as his chest struggled up and down. <em>Breathe</em>, he commanded himself. <em>You are safe here. Do not think about what is outside.</em></p><p>          An involuntary whimper escaped him, and for a moment the situation was comical. <em>Is this what they call a panic attack?</em></p><p>          “Jon?” A sleepy voice shuffled into his bubble of awareness. “Are you okay?”</p><p>          “Martin,” he said, his voice quiet and cracked and broken. “<em>Martin.</em>”</p><p>          It was a funny thing, prayer was. God had left the world long ago, yet if you put your ear to the wall you could hear him whispering. In that moment, Jon came as close to prayer as he could, saying the one thing he knew to be <em>real</em> over and over, an incantation, a wish, a shield. Whispers and murmurings, a prayer and a song.</p><p>          The cold left his body as Martin sat down next to him, wrapping himself around Jon. “Love, why aren’t you asleep?”</p><p>          “I can’t.” The weight of his arms grounded Jon to the world, bringing reality into focus.</p><p>          “Can you tell me about it?” The question was muffled into his hair.</p><p>          Imperceptibly, Jon shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>          The fact that Martin did not leave, did not abandon him to an empty house in a world full of monsters, a world full of people like <em>him</em>, stood testament to a promise made long ago.   </p><p>          Jon ran his hands along the floor in erratic circles. Worlds, galaxies, <em>universes</em> littered the ground, mingling with the dust bunnies at his feet.</p><p>          “I am finding the place where the stars have fallen,” he whispered to himself.</p><p>          Martin held Jon tight, the world no spinning below him.</p><p>         </p>
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